


Cheering up a Friend

by Heathersmoke (Mothwing)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Past Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-20
Updated: 2011-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothwing/pseuds/Heathersmoke
Summary: Pansy takes the break-up from Draco very hard, and Millicent does not have a lot of patience for moping.
Relationships: Millicent Bulstrode/Pansy Parkinson
Kudos: 1





	Cheering up a Friend

Millicent knew, if not from experience, but from keen observation, that having your heart broken was one of the worst things that could happen to anyone, she really did. And she did want to help. Still.   
  
She loved her friend, she did, but right now, she wanted to slap her. Her rising frustration made the thought of having her palm smash into her friend’s face more and more tempting, even though she knew she would never give in. Pansy was crying her eyes out and however much the other girl tried to hug warmth into her or talk it out, she just. would. not. stop. Nothing helped. A shoulder massage - nothing. Talking to her? Nothing she said or did stopped the tears. Handing her Millicent’s tiny new kitten? No reaction. A warm blanket and kind words? Nothing. _Nothing_ helped.  
  
Pansy just kept nestling her face into her own elbow, complaining how nobody wanted her and she had nobody and was all alone and would never find love. Finally, Millicent had had enough - friendship was one thing, but this was another. She'd been her best friend for years, and slightly more after last year, when Millicent had had to admit some things to herself and to Pansy that hadn't been easy.  
  
Millicent had known for years, though. She did not look like the other girls, and when she looked around, at her house and the other houses, it was safe to assume she did not feel like the girls from other houses, either. She did not have the vigorous grace of the Parvati twins, and especially not the ethereal beauty that Beauxbatons girl had had. She did not groom as well, never saw the point for herself, and could only awkwardly stand back and admire the girls for whom this worked. Millicent, who had never felt at home in skirts and had shorn off her long hair at the first opportunity, had hated meeting the much more evidently feminine girls from Beauxbatons. It was not their fault, she knew that, but they had everything she had not, and the mere sight of them seemed to rub in everything that was wrong with her. She was too large, her frame too gangly, her breasts too big, her mouth too broad, her voice too low, she hated herself, bought robes a deliberate size too large, and kept to herself. And then, she had noticed that she, too, had a crush on a teacher. And she had noticed that unlike the other girls, her crush was not on their imposing Head of House or one of the other male Masters. She had fallen head over heels for their flying instructor and consequently never went down to the Quidditch pitch again, it was too dangerous. Her heart always threatened to leap from her mouth when she as much as laid eyes on her.  
  
At Christmas, it had become too much – having avoided her teacher all year, she had sent her an anonymous letter, and she had seen her Madam Hooch read it at Christmas. Her heart had beaten so loud that Millicent had worried it’d be heard, and when she had seen her instructor smile, she had felt as light as a feather. And Pansy, having known her since she was eleven years old, was not stupid. Pansy had known and had been encouraging and one night offered her a mouth for a kiss that was so red it almost looked bruised. And, heart thumping, she had bent to kiss them, and they were less soft than she expected, and more demanding, more challenging, hungrier. Millicent loved those lips, and to see them trembling with emotion now was too hard to bear, especially accompanied by words such as these.  
  
"I'm not your house-elf, Pansy," Millicent said, not raising her voice. She got up. "You should probably go to bed and sleep. I can try and get hold of a house-elf to get you something hot to drink," she added against better knowledge.  
  
Pansy sniffled her thanks, and Millicent wanted nothing more but to leave. But she did not. Feet planted firmly, she could not move herself towards the door, but stood, staring at her friend. Pansy had never been a delicate flower, but to see her dissolved in emotion now turned her into one.  
  
"Pansy, pull yourself together, for heaven's sake," Millicent said sternly. Pansy looked up at her, her face shining with tears.  
"That's easy for you to say."  
  
"Have you tried it? Go on, stop _blubbering_!"  
  
It was cruel. It was also unhelpful, mean, and rude, and dismissive of Pansy's very justified tears, Millicent knew that. It also worked, however, and she breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
"Good. Now get up and come over here." She crossed her arms across her chest, not feeling comfortable, facing Pansy with them sticking out, and watched her friends struggle to her feet.  
  
Pansy stood in front of her like a chastised school girl and Millicent briefly hated the robes, which only increased this impression. Pansy, the Pansy she knew, was stronger than this.  
  
“Come closer,“ she said, conjuring a wet towel. She was quite pleased with the result, it was just the right temperature. “Closer.”  
  
When Pansy came to a halt in front of her, she started dabbing at her friend’s face with the towel, cleaning the swollen cheeks and her eyes, her chin. Pansy watched her from blotchy eyes, curious, but she did not seem to mind this treatment.  
  
“There,” she said, looking at her critically. “Better?”  
  
Pansy nodded, then took a surprising step forward and tilted up her head to kiss Millicent. Millicent took a step back.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“I…”  
  
“You’re not interested in me, Pansy, are you? You just don’t want to feel alone. Is that right?”  
  
Pansy squared her jaw and came closer.  
  
“Yes. You have a problem with that?”  
  
“No, just so we’re clear. You’re not in love with me. I’m not in love with you. We’re friends.”  
  
“Yes, we’re friends. And I’d really like you to shut up and kiss me, _friend_.”  
  
“Not here, I don’t want the entirety of Slytherin house gawking at us. Get into my bed, we’ll close the curtains and be fine.”  
  
She set her jaw and looked into Pansy’s dark eyes sternly, willing her to agree, and, more importantly, imploring her silently not to reject her. For a moment, none of the two said anything.  
  
Then, wordlessly, Pansy went up the stairs. When she arrived in their dormitory, she began unbuttoning her robes without turning and pulled them off, the sound of the rustling fabric the only noise breaking the silence. Millicent did the same, feeling elated and exposed at the same time, and very, very brave.  
  
Pansy did not turn as she dove under the light yellow covers on Millicent’s bed, and her friend followed her and pulled the curtains. It was almost too dark to see, and yet, the light shape of her friend was clearly outlined in the near darkness.  
  
“Lie down,” Millicent ordered to fight the rising tension in her stomach. She had never done this before, she had never felt this kind of heat and arousal before. And Pansy lay down, peering up at her curiously.  
  
“Do you know what you’re doing?” She asked. Millicent smiled.  
  
“I suppose,” she said gruffly, lying down next to her, admiring the skin next to her, gently stroking one finger across the arm of the other girl, watching as she shuddered with a smile.  
  
She inclined her head and kissed her friend softly, her hand exploring the soft skin on her friend’s back, her side, her waist, leaning in to breathe in her familiar, welcome scent. She smelled of something flowery and soft, unlike Millicent herself, who did not wear perfume and was now very conscious of her own faint, musky scent.   
  
Pansy tilted her head and kissed her with a desperate, pressing need. The kiss seemed to last for hours, days, aeons, but Millicent was sharply thrown out of it when she felt a hand inch its way up to her left breast and loosely grasp it, which caused a heat to radiate from her nipple that resounded in her entire body. She did not like her breasts, she got cross whenever anyone as much as looked at them, but here, together, she was curiously alright with Pansy so bluntly reaching out and holding it, as pleasure spread through.   
  
Leaning in to kiss her again Millicent pushed Pansy downwards, working up the courage and then gently cupping her friend’s breast in turn, mesmerized by the feeling of it against her palm, the unexpected hardness of the nipple, the gooseflesh at the side of it when she stroked it with her fingertips. Mesmerised, she bent to kiss Pansy’s breasts, covering the pale skin with tingling, shaky kisses.  
  
Pansy’s breath grew heavier and she sneaked a hand down her back, caressing her bare backside, cupping and kneading the flesh, then got a firm hold of her waist with both hands and turned her over, rolling on top of her. Millicent let her, enjoying the weight of her friend’s body on top of hers, the bones of her legs digging into her hips unpleasantly, but the warmth of her skin spreading to everywhere. Pansy started rocking back and forth and the movement sent tiny waves of pleasure between Millicent’s legs, becoming more pressing. Millicent pulled her friend towards her by her neck and kissed her, then turned, so that she was lying on top of her.  
  
“Don’t, you’ll crush me,” Pansy said, but Millicent could tell she did not mean it, as she readily embraced her friend when Millicent eagerly pressed herself against her.  
  
“Don’t speak,” she said gruffly and kissed her, Pansy’s hand threading up and pulling her down by the back of her head, which hurt her scalp and made Millicent playfully pin Pansy’s hand over her head.  
  
“And don’t hurt me,” she added, but Pansy merely kissed her lower lip.  
  
“Get on with it,” Pansy said quietly, lifting up one leg to thread it around Millicent’s back, drawing her closer. Millicent leant down and kissed her collarbones as she pressed down one leg between her friend’s legs, and waves of heat rolled off her when she pressed herself against Pansy. When they kissed, it was desperate, with too many teeth and too much tongue and too much wanting. She felt her friend press herself against her with all her might, breathing choppy. She wanted to be as close to her as possible, wanted to make her hers, own her. Millicent’s head began to feel light, and from Pansy’s faraway expression she could tell that she had similar feelings.

\----

  
Later, after having washed, searched their socks, disentangled Desmond the kitten from Pansy’s bra, Pansy stood in front of Millicent, half-dressed, in a skirt and a de-kittened-bra, her robes loosely around her.  
  
“Ok to do this again some time?” she asked, leaning down to nestle her head against Pansy’s. Pansy smiled and exhaled deeply.  
  
“Alright,” she replied. 


End file.
